Vacation
by buttertroll
Summary: Camaraderie between a fugitive and a deserter.


**Disclaimer:** Don't own it.

**Note: **Kind of a combination of Heath's solo ending and the duo ending these two _should_ have received.

**Vacation**

**OOOOO**

The inn in Ilia was cozy, and well worth the small fortune Legault had paid for it. They were going to be there for a little while, so he figured he might as well enjoy it—it was not often they ever got to unwind like this. Putting the key in his pocket and muttering his thanks to the innkeeper, he wrapped his arm around his ailing companion's waist while steadying Heath with his free hand, hefting the wyvern rider up the carpeted staircase and receiving very little help from his dazed cargo.

As Legault spotted the door with a bronze '3' adorning its side at the end of the hallway, Heath made a gagging sound and his ragged breath escaped his slightly parted lips.

"Going to…" the shorter man huffed out, bringing his gloved right hand to cover his mouth.

Legault made a face and sped up considerably, adrenaline giving him the strength to all but drag the man to the end of the hallway and through the door, his adept thievery skills making short work of the lock—he had no time to fumble around with a key.

Leading Heath to the chair closest to the door, Legault made a mad rush for the nearest bedpan, returning to the wyvern rider's side in a matter of seconds.

The other man held his head between his knees, gripping handfuls of his sweaty hair while trying to repress the unpleasant feeling of bile rising up his esophagus. Legault offered the bedpan to Heath, who lifted his head and took it with a grunt of thanks. They waited like that for more than a minute, Legault kneeling by the ailing man and patting his back.

Heath glanced at his taller companion and opened his mouth to speak. "I think I'll be alri—"

However, he never did finish that sentence, opting instead to empty whatever had been in his stomach into the proffered container.

Legault quickly pulled Heath's hair out of the way and tried to make the situation as tolerable as possible.

A few seconds later, Heath leaned back, exhausted. He closed his ice blue eyes and groaned.

"It's lovely, Heath," Legault stated jovially as he moved the offending container to the side and brushed his companion's hair away from his face.

The other man's eyes opened and glared at Legault. He was still lucid enough to express his disapproval.

Legault just returned the angry glare with a grin and once again hefted the prostrate Heath into his arms. Crossing the room, he placed Heath on the bed furthest away from the windows. Finally having no pressing matters to attend to, he sloughed off the bags that were strung about his arms and back.

"Though it would please me to no end to dress you for tonight, I do believe you would never approve. I will dispose of your little gift while you get changed. However, I will not leave you unattended for long in your state." With that, Legault turned to retrieve the bedpan, wrinkling his nose upon picking it up. He turned his head to give his companion a smile before leaving the room.

Heath grimaced at the foul taste in his mouth and hoped Legault would return with some water. Pushing his discomfort aside, the wyvern rider reached for his satchel and began to rummage around for his night shirt. It was rather dirty, and he knew it would not be seeing any cleaner days in his current disposition. Frowning again, he donned the garment quickly, lest Legault return at a less than opportune moment. He combed his bare hands through his knotted hair before chalking any notion of cleanliness up as futile. Feeling that there was absolutely nothing good left to find in the remainder of the day, he peeled back the covers of the bed and slipped between the sheets. He turned to look out the windows on the other side of the room.

The ground and sky were both so white; therefore, it was hard to tell whether or not it was still snowing. He wasn't too fond of snow. The cold he could handle. He was from Bern after all, and would often relish in the crisp and cool air that would wash over his face while soaring the frigid blue skies upon Hyperion. Snow, however, was a different matter. Though he had often seen it upon the peaks of the mountains of his beloved homeland, he, as a wyvern knight, had never been so exposed to it as he had been in the past few days.

Never in his life had he ever had to trudge through mile upon mile of snow, tiny snowflakes finding every dry spot on his person and melting, subsequently soaking him to the bone. It was a wonder he had not drowned instead.

And Legault. That dammedable Legault. As always, the thief was unaffected by the climate. The sanguine man walked as if traveling across the cool and balmy plains of Sacae he was so impervious to the cold. Heath would sometimes fall so far behind that he would become panicked—had they been separated? Had Legault finally done the logical thing and abandoned him? Coughing suddenly, he jarred himself out of his contemplative state.

Legault returned shortly after that, carrying what he left with plus a little more, namely water. Heath's eyes lit up as he saw the basin and glasses Legault had balanced in his arms. The thief sat them all down on the nightstand between the room's two beds and turned to his companion with a serious face.

"They have cute maids here," he said with a gravity that would usually imply news of utmost importance.

Heath stared at him blankly.

"However," Legault continued, "I fear they are not nearly as cute as my fair wife, who, despite her ailments, still possesses a magnanimous beauty rivaling that of the blessed St. Elimine. Fair beauty, wouldst thou partake in my offering of the purest water to be found in this frozen wonderland?"

The wyvern rider took a sip, and looked back up at Legault. "They think I'm your wife?" he inquired.

"No. Not this particular lot. They do not appear to be as torpid as the inhabitants of Laus' satellite villages. It just seemed appropriate to continue in that fashion, O Ailing Prince of the Sky."

Heath smiled around his glass as he took another drink. _That_ had been an adventure. A faint image of Sain suddenly crossed his mind. "Are you so bored you must continue to speak in such an annoying manner?"

Legault took a seat on his bed, facing Heath with his chin propped up by his intertwined fingers. "As a matter of fact, I am." The thief removed a few papers from his cloak. "However, I believe I will leave you to the dreamworld. Our dearest Lady Lime awaits a reply from her boon acquaintance, The Silver Stud."

Heath rolled his eyes as he simultaneously turned over. "You're no longer silver."

That, of course, was only half true. Shortly after they had departed from Lord Eliwood and company, Legault had taken his killing edge to his own hair, trimming his trademark silver locks for the sake of anonymity. Following that, he dyed his hair with some berries indigenous to Badon, turning the silver into a rusty red. The makeshift dye was fading, and if Legault stood in the right light, Heath could see the sheen of silver returning to its proper place.

He heard Legault make an indignant noise. "That's quite a low blow, little miss."

Heath allowed himself an effete smile but said nothing more, rooting around in the blankets before he could find a comfortable position. He nodded off almost immediately.

Hearing no response, Legault turned his attention to the letter he procured from his cloak. It was from Nino, of course. He had already read it, and had spent most of his time in Ilia contemplating what he should write back. Namely, how he should write back. In their secret code, it was hard to get anything personal across to the other with a clear meaning. Of course, should someone intercept these messages, they would be taxed to produce a solution due to the vague syntax. Pausing briefly to create two new pseudonyms, Legault began to write.

**OOOOO**

Heath woke up around noon the next day, feeling considerably better. He looked over to Legault who was, surprisingly, still asleep. This was the first time the wyvern rider had ever seen Legault sleeping; therefore, he felt rather compelled to observe. Legault was very still, and his right hand resided close to his left side. Heath knew that there was a dagger there—he had seen Legault use it in the few desperate situations they had been in while traveling together. Once when a pair of axe-wielding mercenaries had cornered them, and again when an assassin from Bern had managed to disarm Heath. It made an excellent throwing knife, and Heath had been soaked in that man's blood shortly after Legault's killing blow. He shivered. Legault was frightening at times.

"Is there something on my face?" Legault inquired in that irritatingly omnipotent and teasing tone of his. He was not as asleep as Heath had thought.

"Your nose," Heath replied with irritation, giving the other man a tired grimace.

Disregarding his companion's annoyance, the thief brought his hand up to touch the nose in question. "Ah! You've found it!"

The shorter man rolled over, exasperated. He could hear Legault shuffling around behind him.

"I'm going to find someone to deliver this letter to our Reed Nymph. Do you need any new weapons while I'm out? The proprietor here said that the lances here are top notch, given that the pegasus knights reside in this country."

"Spare javelins couldn't hurt," Heath said, once again rolling around to face Legault. His countenance reflected his contemplation. "More vulneraries," he added as an afterthought.

"You're too paranoid," Legault chided him.

Heath wanted to argue with that, but it always led to an awkward and sometimes strained silence between them. Death was not a comfortable topic of discussion.

"Fine," Heath said, letting it go and turning around again.

Legault approached him from behind, unnecessarily close. "I'll see what I can do," he said quietly while leaning down so he was only centimeters away from Heath's head, which was three-fourths covered with the comforter, his white and predominantly green locks fanned out against the pillow.

The wyvern rider grunted in acknowledgement but said nothing.

"I'll be back with lunch," Legault informed him before his exit was announced by the closing door and the clicking of the lock.

Heath shifted around in the bed, trying to fall back asleep. Though better than yesterday, he still felt rather exhausted. There was an emptiness in his stomach, yet he felt no hunger. In fact, the very thought of food revolted him. He also wanted to return to slumber, for he knew that his thoughts would not bother him if he were not conscious.

Shaking his head and giving up on all notions of sleep, Heath slipped out of the covers and stretched. Perhaps there was something in this room that would occupy his wandering mind. He began to search the drawers of the nightstand, coming across a few ads asking for mercenaries and a book of St. Elimine. Neither willing to get tied up in the mercenary business again nor particularly religious, he let his eyes fall to Nino's letter.

He contemplated it for a moment, thinking whether or not it would be an invasion of privacy to view its contents. He figured since Legault left it out, it wouldn't be much of a crime for Heath to read it. After all, if Legault didn't want a person to know something, then they never would.

Legault didn't want Heath to know about a lot of things, it seemed.

Giving himself permission, Heath grabbed the letter and leaned back into the bed, propping himself up with the pillows.

_Dearest Stud of Shining Silver, _

Heath paused to roll his eyes.

_How is you're wife? I saw a wyvern from the mountains patrolling the skys yesterday and I thought of her. The ice girl and her knight are going to get married. Are you going to come? I think it would be safer there with friends. Uncle J says that our former allys have given up on rivenge. Most of them have moved on. But he said a few were still out to get us. _

_My gardien angel and me are going to settle down in my homeland after Uncle J finds us a safe place. Maybe you to can visit after the weding. Theres safety in numbers you know. I miss you uncle. Tell aunty I miss her to. _

_Love,_

_Lady Lime_

_P.S. I think Im getting the hang of writeing! Uncle C says so. _

Despite Nino's recent acquisition of literacy skills, Heath could understand the letter. To the uninformed, however, the message would be hard to decipher.

So, it was true. As a whole, the remaining Black Fang had given up on killing their former comrades. While he was relieved, Heath was also overcome with guilt.

Even before he read the letter, he knew their Black Fang pursuers were thinning in numbers. He saw how Legault had put aside his killing edges in favor of lancereavers and wyrmslayers. How, instead of keeping an eye on the shrubberies and treetops, his eyes would linger in the sky longer than usual. How he would take a moment to contemplate a fire tome or a longbow while they were browsing through vendors and armories. Heath said nothing. He knew that trying to talk Legault out of remaining with him was useless.

Instead, he both awaited and dreaded the day his companion would brush so close to Death's door that he would simply leave without a word. Heath knew an explanation would not be needed.

If—no, when—that happened, Heath would be left with very few options. He figured returning to the mercenary business would be his best bet. He hated to be by himself. As a trainee from day one, he had always had a squadron to be apart of; people to depend on should his lance ever falter. Of course, that had gotten the rest of his group killed. Commander Vaida had called him lucky upon their reunion outside of the Shrine of Seals. She seemed happy to see him alive. As happy as a woman of her temperament could be, anyway. He smiled, taking a minute to wonder where she was and if he should attempt to write to her—if Bern had not executed her for treason. Would her love for him supersede her fierce loyalty to Bern? He wouldn't chance their safety to find out.

He had been shocked to see that she had received a long scar along the left side of her face upon finding her again. It reminded him of Legault's almost analogous wound. He knew how and where she received hers, but he wondered who would have enough skill and stealth to be close enough to scar Legault. If Heath asked, he was unsure Legault would tell.

Feeling cold again, Heath sat the letter back in its place and covered himself up.

"That dammedable Farina," Legault said as he suddenly walked through the door, startling Heath. "'That'll be 5,000 for the carrying fee'—it was just a piece of _paper_," the thief complained, recounting his conversation with the only pegasus knight he could hire on such short notice.

"She didn't actually charge you that much, did she?" Heath questioned.

"Not after she got a nice, good look at my lancereaver," Legault grinned. "I was hoping to find little Florina, but apparently she's in Sacae. She and Nino are friends."

"Here," the thief said, placing a bag on the nightstand.

Heath sat up to take a peek inside. "Vulneraries?" he asked, surprised that Legault had actually listened to him.

"I figure we should put off buying weapons until we leave. No use having them sit around here. The innkeeper might get suspicious if we bring weapons up here anyway. And, though we are in no danger of running out of funds, I would rather not have to buy his silence."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I hope you're in the mood for food, because you aren't doing anything else until you eat."

Heath blanched, noticing the bowl of soup Legault had balanced with his right hand. "There's quite a selection downstairs, should you feel you want more."

"I'm not hungry."

"Fantastic," Legault responded as if Heath had said the exact opposite, dragging a chair across the room and setting the bowl down on the table. He sat down and contemplated Heath's expression. "Now, can you eat this yourself, or must I coddle you?"

"Neither," Heath said decisively, sealing his mouth shut and turning away. He did not want an incident like last night and just looking at the soup disgusted him.

Not taking 'no' for an answer, Legault held a spoonful level to Heath's head. "Don't make me go ask a maid for rope."

Heath frowned and glanced at his friend, "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would."

"In addition," Legault continued, "I would enjoy it."

Heath jumped a bit.

Acquiescing to break the tension, Heath opened his mouth.

"Good boy!" Legault exclaimed, inserting the spoon and leaving it there for Heath to remove at his leisure. He handed the wyvern rider the bowl.

The soup was good, and served to warm Heath up. However, the further down it traveled, the more nauseous he felt.

One step ahead of him, Legault placed the bedpan at the side of Heath's bed. "So," he began, "would you like to attend Eliwood's wedding?"

Heath looked up at him, surprised.

"Letters just don't get up and walk, Heath. Perhaps you should study the initial position of an object before you grab it and expect to return it to its proper place."

"Oh. I, uh…" the shorter man trailed off.

"Not a problem. Just a reminder, should you ever feel the need to be a bit more discreet in your perusing of my letters."

"I'm sorry."

Legault grinned. "Don't be. I was planning on telling you, you know. You just saved me the trouble. Do you want to go?"

"If it is not too much trouble, yes," the wyvern rider said. "At the very least, I would like to see Hyperion."

He had relinquished his mount to Ninian's care when they parted company at Badon, for the obstinate creature would not leave Heath's side and simply return to Bern's highlands. He would have given the wyvern to Vaida, but he would not also hand to her the burden of explaining where she had acquired the deserter's mount.

"I am sure it is enjoying being pampered under the orders of Pherae's soon to be marchioness."

"He," Heath corrected.

Legault scowled. He and that overprotective _lizard_ had never been on the best of terms—mean ol' Hyperion preferred the company of cute little girls like Priscilla and Nino. "_He_," the thief repeated, appeasing the other man.

"I asked Nino for details in my letter. We will make our plans when her response arrives. It should not be too hard to return to Lycia undetected."

The deserter smiled at the prospect of a reunion with his comrades, for surely a majority of them would attend. "I'm looking forward to this vacation."

"Vacation?" Legault asked, feigning surprise. "If you have not noticed, we are on vacation."

"We are?"

"Of course. Unless we are not enjoying ourselves. Then we are in exile. Are you in exile, Heath?"

Taking another spoonful of soup, the wyvern rider mulled over that question. He was sick in a frozen wasteland and sharing the company of what must have been the most irritatingly clever man alive. "No," he said, surprising himself. "I am not."

"Then we are in agreement. A vacation it is."

Heath looked down at his bowl of soup. He had more than half to go. "Do I have to finish?" he asked, sounding whinier than he intended.

"Yes."

Heath made a disappointed sound and continued to fight his way through the seemingly bottomless bowl.

Legault chuckled, reminded of something amusing. "Nino used to hate to get sick when I was around. When her father and brothers were not doting on her, I would be there to make sure she did all she could to get better. 'This soup is yucky' 'you're so mean Uncle Legault' 'Uncle Jan gives up after the first hour' 'even mother doesn't care this much'," he mimicked.

"She was right to say those things. You are quite obstinate."

"You wound me."

"Only with what is true," Heath said, handing Legault the bowl. He settled back down into the covers before the former assassin could protest. "If you continue to insist that I finish, I assure you I will not be aiming for the bedpan when I throw up."

Legault huffed, but said nothing. He placed the bowl on Heath's side of the nightstand and went to light the fireplace.

"You didn't steal these vulneraries, did you?" Heath asked, noticing they were presently in a bag and not Legault's cloak.

"No, I didn't," the thief snapped back while setting the kindling on fire. He sounded almost offended.

"Sorry. I was just wondering. Usually you have no trouble."

"Ilia needs not my wandering hands to add to its economic struggle."

"I didn't know you cared."

Legault didn't respond.

"I'm sorry," Heath said, his apology falling on deaf ears.

**OOOOO**

When Heath awoke a few hours later, Legault was missing. Though his body felt better, his mind was still lamenting the bad note on which their earlier conversation had ended. The thief had not uttered a word the rest of the afternoon. Did he really offend Legault so much as to warrant the silent treatment?

There was dinner waiting on the nightstand beside him, and joining that was a rope. Actually in the mood to eat, Heath picked up the tray and set it on his lap.

Legault strode in about an hour later, covered in snow.

"Where were you?" Heath asked.

"Oh, out for a walk," Legault answered, nonchalantly brushing the snow of his shoulders.

"How can you stand it?"

"Stand what?"

"The snow."

"How I would stand anywhere else, naturally—balancing my weight between my two feet. I understand why this concept is new to you, as you have only been away from your mount for a few months."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Avoiding my questions!" Heath snarled, hitting the bed with his fist.

Legault regarded Heath coolly and went to sit down on the bed with him. "I apologize. It seems the cabin fever has made you rather irritable. If you absolutely must know, I was born here. I enjoy the snow, and I was visiting my mother."

The other man took a moment to process all of that new information. Though he did ask, he was honestly not expecting a straight answer.

"Does your mother know you're a thief?" Heath blurted out before he could stop himself.

"I prefer the term 'hired hand' when talking to her, but yes. Pegasi are not particularly fond of men, and there are few jobs to be had here for males other than shopkeeper or carpenter, neither of which can produce much of an income; moreover, they aren't that fun."

Heath was silent.

Legault smiled. "Well, I suppose that's one Mystery of Legault's Past solved for you. Perhaps I'll introduce you to Mother when you're well enough to leave."

"Don't endanger her like that."

"If I was worried, I wouldn't have even gone to visit her. She was quite the mage back in her prime; and, unlike professions that require physical strength, with age comes greater magical power," Legault informed the other man, standing up.

"I'm rather disappointed that you made the right decision this evening," he said, changing the topic and picking up the rope. "I suppose I'll just have to return this," he continued forlornly, sauntering towards the door.

Left alone again, Heath stood up and went to the window. He opened it, letting the snow drift in and fall to his bare feet. He did not notice it before, but snow made a sound as it fell, a distinct yet muted sound that sort of reminded him of a crackling fire. It was silent outside, and he could see no more than two sets of footprints at a time, one of them more than likely belonging to Legault.

"I'm not sure about how you were raised, but I don't think that's the right way to go about getting well," Legault said, coming to stand behind the other man.

"You're a fool for not just leaving."

Legault moved closer. "Am I? Must be that thing, you know. It's clouding my judgment."

Heath shifted uncomfortably.

"That thing will be the end of you," Heath said, turning to face Legault only to find that the former assassin had already moved to stand right behind him.

"Why so contemplative all of a sudden?" Legault asked while leaning forward to brush Heath's hands off of the windowsill. He ushered the other man away and closed the window, dodging Heath's comment.

"I think I've had too much time to think."

"Now I don't want you overworking that pretty head of yours; I'll get you a book or something."

"_Shut up!" _Heath exclaimed, reaching out to grab Legault's cloak and pull the taller man closer. "I'm tired of you brushing this off! I _hate_ it when you act so nonchalant!"

The green-haired man shook his head. "Why are you so… so…" he trailed off, losing steam.

"Charming?" Legault provided, taking Heath's hands in his own and detaching them from his cloak.

"Aggravating!" the shorter man snarled.

He sighed and brought his head to rest against Legault's shoulder. "I just don't think you should be wasting your life away because you're constantly watching my back."

The thief wrapped Heath in a friendly embrace. "I can assure you that I do not consider this a waste of my time. In fact," Legault continued while letting his hands fall back to his side, "I find what I have gained rather worth the effort."

Heath straightened himself out and looked down, slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry for being such an ass."

"And a fine ass you were, thinking I would discard you once the Black Fang thinned out—I should think that you would think better of yourself, for you are more than a shield to me."

"You don't have to rub it in."

"Oh, but I must. I will not have your mind stray down that self-deprecating path again."

Heath rolled his eyes. "I think you just like to blow your own horn."

"Well, if you will not blow it for me, then I suppose I must. Now," Legault said quickly before an awkward silence could settle around them, "this won't be nearly as effective as a restore staff, but it'll speed up your recovery." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a vial of green liquid, handing it to Heath.

"It smells awful!" Heath exclaimed upon uncorking the container, his face a wrinkled portrait of disgust.

"It tastes worse," Legault responded lightheartedly.

The wyvern rider cautiously brought the vial to his lips, but was unable to tilt it back and let the foul liquid enter his mouth. He eyed Legault apologetically.

"If it were poison," the thief informed the other man, "you would not be able to detect anything amiss until right before you dropped dead."

"I didn't think… Well… It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that…" Heath trailed off, though he looked relieved at Legault's confession.

"I know, I know. Go ahead."

With one swift motion, Heath downed the contents of the vial, his face scrunching up as he repressed the urge to gag.

"I can assure you that not everything my mother makes will taste like that."

"Your mother made it?"

"Runs an apothecary. Try growing up with that stuff to look forward to every time you catch a cold. You might even prefer poison after _that_ for twenty years."

"I suppose that's why you're immune to _everything_ now."

"Mother does know best, you know. Should we stay here, it won't take you long to build up some immunity, too."

"Stay here?" Heath asked incredulously.

"Oops." Legault brought his hand up to cover his mouth. He grinned behind his fingertips. "I meant to pop that question after you had recovered. Oh well."

Heath stared at him, eyes reflecting faint apprehension.

"Think about it," Legault said while guiding Heath back to his bed. "Wyverns hate flying in snow; it would take wyvern knights ages to get here—we would know about their arrival in Ilia days in advance simply through the grape vine. I have a plethora of connections here, too. I could call in a few favors—maybe even secure us a home."

Heath pondered this as Legault sat down next to him. "What would we do?"

"There's always mercenary work. One as eleemosynary as you should have no problem assisting the hoi polloi around here." Legault paused to laugh. "When I first met you, I was rather touched that a mercenary could care so much."

Heath blushed slightly. "You flatter me."

"Then again, I also thought you rather stupid for that. It hurts to allow your feelings to mingle with your duty." Legault's eyes unfocused for a moment, and the memory of running his knife through Aesha's abdomen flashed across his mind. At least he had the decency to attack her from the front; she was too good to die the death of a normal target.

"It does," Heath agreed. "But I can't help it. Sealen, Eubans, Commander Vaida… It's hard not to get attached when you eat, sleep, and breathe in a person's constant company. Even you, you eloquent lout, have a place in my heart."

Legault 'awwed' and Heath turned to glare at him. "Quit making fun of me."

"Oh, that was not to make light of your feelings. Simply to lighten the mood, for when things become serious, you become silent."

The thief allowed himself a wicked grin and continued. "However, if you are serious about being serious, then I must say in all seriousness that in my intimate proximity to you, I have developed feelings akin to yours and, subsequently, I do love you."

"…_What?_"

"You heard me."

Heath didn't respond.

"And there you go with the silence."

"I…" Heath began after a moment, trying to find the right words. "If I stay here long enough, Ilia might grow on me…"

"It might."

"I could even learn to love it."

"I could teach you to, if you'd like."

Heath chuckled softly. He didn't really know the topic to which he was responding.

"In this case, I would not be adverse to your so-called guidance."

**OOOOO**

**Comments: **I had only meant for this to be like… five pages long. And then it turned into this monster. I like their dynamic. I do hope the characterization was okay. Typical paranoid!Heath and superwitty!Legault with an indirect I'msocuteandilliterate!Nino. I think Legault was too verbose—even if it was for the sake of screwing with Heath's head (which was fun to write). On a side note, there needs to be more Vaida love. She owns your face.

Now, choose your own ending. Legault's response is…

1.) "Great! Let's go play in the snow!" (non-slash)

2.) "Take your clothes off while I go retrieve that rope." (slash)

Comments/reviews/letter bombs are welcome.


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